Skye
by Otterhare
Summary: An ottermaid's holt is raided. A ruthless vermin leader is on the march, like none other that Mossflower has ever seen. Can Typhoon Skye form an alliance with a beast from the perilous north and complete this legend? *Updated*
1. Prologue--The Ruins of the Holt

A/N: All characters are (c) me. Redwall is (c) Brian Jacques. Blah blah blah....This story is actually 70+ pages long, and I'm not done yet! (that's why it's taking so long to type up...)  
  
  
  
Skye; The Tale of an Ottermaid  
  
Prologue  
  
An old squirrel, bent with age, slowly lowered himself into the overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. Coughing through his grey whiskers, he opened up a thick, dusty book and ran a slightly unsteady paw over the yellowed pages. He gazed down at the eager faces of the Abbey Dibbuns.  
  
"Now, I've traveled a long way, heard many tales and listened to many songs, both of joy and sorrow, pain an' victory. But perhaps none was as great as th' tale I will tell ye now. 'Tis th' tale o' an ottermaid, both savage and gentle. This is Typhoon Skye's story."  
  
The young ottermaid, Typhoon Skye, quietly pushed open the great cedar doors of her holt's cave. She sniffed the air, ears perking slightly. All was not right. Placing a paw on the longknife hilt hanging from her belt, she crept inside. The only movement in the room was the flickering firelight. Just as she was about to leave, the room exploded with loud noise. Behind her, her whole tribe was smiling as they played every instrument in the Holt loudly. A heavy paw decended on her shoulder and she looked up into the kind, dark eyes of Aveno Skye, her father.  
  
"Ye didn't think we'd ferget yore birthday, did ye? Go on, join 'em!" He bellowed, grinning.   
  
Typhoon's holt was not very big, and furniture was scarce. most of the floor was covered in rush mats and cushions, and in the middle of it all was a large bonfire. Pots of steaming hotroot soup were passed around, bread, cheese and platters of fish cooked in every possible way were all laid out in the midst of them, and drinks were set in the corner.  
  
Now, the party went on into the dark night, and its participants were oblivious to the horde of vermin which had silently surrounded the small cave. At a signal from their tall, lithe leader, they advanced. None of the holt noticed the fire arrows which had thudded into the main doors until it was too late. Vermin soldiers, each heavily armed and trained carefully in the way of battle, entered the holt. On each vermin face was a smirk, on each goodbeast face a horrified expression.  
  
The one who had given the signal stepped in, her features lit by firelight. The weasel, her fur a light tone of brown, gazed over at the surprised otters and gave a malicious grin. Her green eyes glinted dangerously as she spoke.  
  
"Give us yore treasure, an' you might go unharmed. Decide to keep it, an' we'll have it anyway!" Her voice was unnaturally gruff.  
  
"You know that there are no riches here, Flaire Icefang." Aveno stood up, brandishing his javelin.  
  
"Liar! You shall fall with your wretched holt." Flaire snarled, grasping he light metal shaft of her pike.  
  
Aveno roared out just as Flaire bellowed. "ATAAAAAAAAACK!"  
  
Fourscore vermin, armed to the teeth, launched themselves at the twoscore otters, who fought valiantly. Typhoon saw her own father go down at the point of Flaire's pike. The rest were either slain or knocked unconcious. Those still breathing were loaded into the slaver cart. Flaire grabbed a passing rat. "Search the Holt, bring anything of value to me."  
  
Soon, a small pile of gold and silver was at her footpaws. She snarled, showing the diamond embedded in her left fang. "Nobeast keeps anything from Flaire Icefang." 


	2. Enslaved

Chapter 1: Enslaved  
  
  
Typhoon was roused roughtly out of sleep by the slave driver, Rind. She had been living (if you could call it living) in Flaire's fortress for more than a season.  
  
"Gerrup, yew scurvy blige scrapin's! There's fresh work ter be done!"  
  
Scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her paws, she took a quick lick from the miniscule stream of water which continually flowed down the back wall of the slave compound. It fact, the back wall was part of the fortress itself.  
  
"We give it ter yew too easy, slave. Huh, food, water an' beddin'. Almos' as good as us!"  
  
Typhoon was chained with the other slaves and hauled outside. Rind held his whip in one paw and unchained them so that they could move around and work.   
  
"'Tis fieldwork for yer, me 'earties. Get ter work!"  
  
A squirrel, Zenith Vertigo, glared at Rind, who glared back. Zenith, Typhoon's best friend, moved closer to her. He was a squirrel of strong build, whose dark eyes were penetrating and deadly. Zenith smoothed out his white (now dirty-grey) tunic and murmured out of the side of hid mouth. "One day, I'm gonna take me bow an' arrows back -- I swear it on my brush. But 'twon't be easy. These vermin soldiers have real spitit, they're not idle cowards."  
  
Typhoon nodded. "Aye. They're a different lot, aren't they?"  
  
Their conversation was interrupted by Rind's loud growl. "Silence there! Jus' try an' run away -- I'll slit yore gizzards!"  
  
Zenith's keen eyes spotted somethign moving in the surrounding woodlands. He swiftly shot up a thin post, on which hung a basket for carrying the crop. "Ty, I see somethin' movin' in there. Lend a voice, will ye?"  
  
"Alright, but I'm not that great at makin' up words, matey." Typhoon pretended to sing an old ballad as she worked. In fact, it was a message.   
  
"Stranger in the wood,  
Who are ye?  
Tell us if ye would,  
What yore purpose is?  
My name's Typhoon Skye,  
My friend is Zenith Vertago,  
'Tis the truth, not a lie,  
Answer quick, an' keep low."  
  
The answer came back clearly. To disuise it, Zenith pretended that it was he who was singing.   
  
"I'm known as Goldstryke Desertchyp,  
I'm a fennec fox,  
But do not fret, friend, 'cos I'm not foe,  
I'll try an' free ye from slavery's locks."  
  
Typhoon smiled up at Zenith. "Didje 'ear that, mate? Goldstryk's gonna free us!"  
  
Zenith hopped down from his perch. "Keep it quiet, Ty. 'Ere comes ole Rind."  
  
Rind lashed out at the two captives with his stinging whip. "Quiet that singin' down, yew scurvy slaves. One more peep an' I'll flay yer ter dollrags!"  
  
Once he left, Typhoon rubbed her stinging cuts with a strip from her tunic. "Oooh! I jus' wanna get out o' here, an' never come back!"  
  
Zenith endured his pain in silence. After a few moments of quiet working, he spoke. "Wot is a fennec fox anyways?"  
  
"I dunno, matey. I'd like ter meet 'im." Typhoon tossed a burden of corn into the basket hanging from the post.  
  
Later on in the day, the slaves were back in their compound, lying on their thin mattresses of straw. Zenith was sprawled across his, staring up at the sky. Typhoon, who was extraordinary with her paws, had fashioned a reed whistle out of some things she had gathered while in the fields. She played it softly, not wanting to attract the attention of Rind, or any of the other soldiers. Zenith stood up, picked up a leaf, rolled it into a crude cone and filled it with fresh water. He drank deeply.  
  
The gate in the corner was opened, and a bowl of table scraps was dished out to each waiting slave. Scroot the ferret kicked out at any who grabbed. "Wait in line there, yew worthless scraps o' dust!"  
  
Typhoon had recieved her share, and sat on her bed, waiting for Zenith. The squirrel plunked down on his matress and rummaged through his food. "Look, roast woodpigeon, fried fish an' some veggibles. Good pickin's today, eh?" He savoured his meal, slowly eating it.  
  
"Aye. Hmm, I likes fried fish. Woodpigeon's alright, though." Typhoon guzzled down most of it, putting some aside for the next day. Zenith did the same, knowing that he would be hungry the next morning. He covered the bowls with large leaves.  
  
"Wonder wot's for brekkist tommorer?" Zenith growled sarcastically.  
  
"Huh, allus th' same, matey. A piece o' old fruit an' tasteless porridge." Typhoon sighed before rolling over. Soon the whole slave compound was fast asleep, not noticing the small form which had clung to an overhanging branch and dropped fruit into the middle of the compound, nor did they notice the small scroll drop beside the pile. 


	3. Alliance

At dusk, both Typhoon and Zenith sat with their back to the stone wall of the compound. They waited for the fennec, with the whole group of other slaves who sat around or beside them, watching. New travels fast around the compound, and word of the fruit and fennec reached the ears of even the shyest slave. They were all grateful for the food.  
  
There was a rustling of leaves and a small figure crawled painstakingly onto the branch overhanging the compound. Typhoon could see that it was trembling with fright.  
  
"Are ye Typhoon Skye?" came the voice, quite shaky but of medium tone.  
  
"Aye. I take it ye are Goldstryk Desertchyp?" Typhoon called softly up.  
  
"Yes, 'tis me. Wot do ye want of me?"  
  
Zenith stood up. "We want freedom, my friend."  
  
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a panicked squeal. "A guard's comin'!"  
  
"When will we see ye agin, Goldstryk?" Zenith said hurriedly.  
  
"I don't know. Mayhaps at midnight?"  
  
"Zenith! Hurry!" Typhoon's urgent whisper reached Zenith's pointed ears. The squirrel gave Goldstryk a nod before hurling himself onto his mattress.  
  
The bermin guard, Spitsnout, opened the gate and barked into the compound. "Wot's all this noise, eh? Shut yore slimy faces an' stay quiet!"  
  
The fennec clung to the branch, not daring to move. Goldstryk hoped that Spitsnout would not look up.  
  
"I'll cut that scurvy branch off meself. Gives yew slaves too much shade anyways." Spitsnout growled as he stormed off, frustrated because he could not pick on any of the slaves this time.  
  
Zenith snorted. "Too much shade? Huh, that's a good 'un. Th' vermin jus' wants somethin' ter do!"  
  
"Well, can't blame th' scum. They don't have any trouble to get into." Typhoon lay back down, before calling up to the fennec. "Goldstryk, are ya there, matey?"  
  
"Yes. just. I s'pose I'll have to get down now...yon vermin shall lop this 'ere branch off soon!" The fennec dragged himself off the branch and disappeared into the foilage.  
  
Spitsnout balanced perilously on the battlement, as he took a saw and started cutting through the branch. Suddenly, a rock flew out from nowhere, and knocked the rat squealing from the battlement. Skye looked up.  
  
"Looks like Goldstryk's helpin' out there!"  
  
"Sure thing, laddie buck! Oh, er, sorry, I stand corrected. I meant lassie doe, wot!" A hare said, grinning from her place in the corner. "I say, a jolly ol' escape? Spiffin' stuff!"  
  
Zenith chuckled. "I hope Goldstryk's got a plan, mate."  
  
Standing up, the lanky hare strode over to them. She was shorter than most, and had sparkling bround eyes. "Forestwood Penlock Garrowford at y'service, wot! Y'can call me Forest, 'tis a lot shorter."  
  
"Me name's Zenith Vertigo, an' me otter friend here is Typhoon Skye." The young squirrel could not help but like the talkative hare.  
  
"Say, how did ye get here, matey?" Typhoon asked.  
  
"I was on Patrol, me firs' 'un, actually. Fourscore o' th' blighters came an' charged us! Most o' th' patrol fought well, but were brought down. Some o' th' other chaps were captured, like yores truly."  
  
"Wot 'appened t' them?" Zenith said.  
  
"They managed ta escape. I was caught again. Poor ole me, wot." Forest's ears drooped. Zenith grasped her paw fiercely.  
  
"We'll get ye free -- id's stake my life on it!"  
  
Forest took one look at the squirrel's fierce eyes and said, "I don't doubt a word o' that, m'lud! Not a blinkin' word!" 


	4. On the March

Flaire Icefang cut an impressive figure. Tall and sinewy, she was lithe and graceful in every movement, though it was only her dangerous green eyes that betrayed her skill in battle. She wore a cloak of dark emerald-green, underneath that a cream-coloured tunic. A leather belt was strapped diagonally from her shoulder to her opposite hip. It had two loops of cord on the back, which held Flaire's pike. The villainous weasel also carried a small dirk. Whenever she smiled, the sun glinted off the diamond embedded in one pearly-white fang. It gave the impression of sparkling ice--her namesake.  
  
"Scroot!" She barked, "get Sydscri. I need to talk to her."  
  
The ferret sped off, and returned shortly with the stoat in question following.  
  
"Sydscri, I will be leaving at dawn for our usual rounds of slave-snaring. I leave you in charge. If anything goes wrong, I hold you responsible. No double-dealing." Flaire's green eyes told Sydscri that any mistake would mean certain death.  
  
Sydscri nodded, gulping. She had been left in charge before-- nobeast questioned Flaire's chosen officer. Though each soldier could thing for themselves, each knew that flaire could not be overthrown. The twisted carcasses of those who had tried still lay outside the fortress. "Yes, m'lady. May th' fates go with yer."  
  
"Good." Flaire turned and swept off. "Slavers! Rally to me!"  
  
The fourscore, same as those who had attacked Typhoon's holt a season back, assembled quickly before her. Flaire waved her pike. "D'you all have what ye need?"  
  
"Yes, m'lady!" They called out in unison.  
  
"Splendid. We leave at dawn." Flaire smiled, firelight from the soldiers' camp glinting off the diamond set in her fang.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Early the next morning, before the breaking of dawn, Zenith awoke. He made his way over to the centre of the compount. The young squirrel stared at the small pile of fruit for a few moments before running to rouse his friend.  
  
"Ty, wake up! Our friend the fennec dropped us a present!"  
  
Typhoon Skye was awake immediately. She ran over and picked out a juicy pear and sank her teeth into it. "Mmm, 'tis lovely!"  
  
Zenith, not looking at what he was eating, had bit into the scroll. He spat it out and shook it at Typhoon. "Wot d'you make o' this?"  
  
"Open it, Zen, you ninny!" The otter replied, smiling.  
  
"Oh, er, right..."  
  
The scroll was made of barkcloth and tied together with some twine. It opened easily. There were only four words on it, and it was signed with a pawprint which pad was a spiral.   
  
  
'Stone wall at dusk.'  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Flaire Icefang and her slavers had left the fort. They were trekking at a fast pace through the woodlands.   
  
"Where to, Icefang?" Scroot inquired, panting.  
  
"To th' mountains. There are some tribes up north." The weasel growled as she leapt over a large rock, over which Scroot stumbled.  
  
"T-to th-th' mount-t-tains?" Scroot felt faint. "B-but t-there're w-w-wolves out th-there!"  
  
"Exactly." 


	5. Feathers and Fiends

A little distance form the fort, the fennec in question was sitting on a low branch, thinking to himself. He was a small creature, who had golden eyes and enormous ears. Goldstryk was a sandy colour, and resembled a normal fox, though his ears were larger by far and his snout slightly shorter. The fennec fox wore crimson tunic, around which was buckled at thin woven belt. This held a sling, stone pouch and two throwing knives. Each had the same engraving-- a pawprint with a swirl for its pad. This same symbol was carved onto the marbled gold and silver pendant around his neck.  
  
"Now, how am I going to get twoscore slaves out of a heavily guarded fortress?" he said to himself.  
  
A robin alighted on a branch next to him, noting the perplexed expression on the fox's face. "I help, yousee, yousee!"  
  
Goldstryk stared at him curiously. "What d'you intend on doin'?"  
  
"I tell slaves whatcha wanna. Then they tella me messige and I comeyou."  
  
"What a great idea!" Goldstryk grinned and began to lay out a scheme with his feathered friend.  
  
  
~.~.~.~.~   
  
  
Flaire and her fourscore vermin were setting up camp. Standing on a large rock, the weasel supervised the putting-up of tents.  
  
"No, that goes there, ye fat-faced fool! No, not there, there!" She yelled at a ferret called Laim, who was unsucessfully trying to hammer a stake in the hard ground. Drawing her pike, she knocked the stake from Laim's paws and thunked it in herself. "Don't make that mistake again!"  
  
Laim nodded quickly before turning away. Mumbling quietly to Scroot, he tied a few knots in the rope securing the tent.  
  
"Huh, she's worser 'n a toad wot sat on a thorn."  
  
"But she's a good chief, mate. Knows wot she's oin', she does." Scroot replied without looking up.  
  
Flaire was watching the pair. Leaping down from her perch, she knocked them fiercely apart with her pike haft. "I hope that's not mutiny I hear, or I'll kick yer inter nex' season an' skelp yore tails so 'ard, ye won't be able ter sit down 'til yore whiskers are grey!" she snarled, green eyes glinting savagely.  
  
"No, marm, we wos complimentin' yore, er, leadership skills!" Scroot stammered.  
  
Flaire Icefang turned her attention away from them as a shout issued from the other end of the camp. She lay about with the pike, knocking vermin to one side until she found the weasel who had given the ear-piercing yell.  
  
"Now what, Slydrind?"  
  
"Wettail slew Redbelly!" Slydrind replied, pointing to the stoat he accused with a rusty hatchet, whose tail took on a glistening black colouration at the tip, giving it the impression that it was recently dipped in liquid.  
  
"No, I never! 'E wos stealin' me vittles, th' slimy robber!" Wettail whined, paw on the hilt of a wicked-looking cutlass.  
  
Flaire stood over Redbelly's limp form. She curled her lip in disgust as she turned the water rat onto his back with a footpaw. "He's not dead, jus' unconcious. That 'un'll live ter eat another day. Slydrind, get 'im ter Kingi. She knows most about herbs an' all that rot. Wettail, go back to yore tent." The weasel whacked the retreating Wettail as he scurried off.  
  
Once the whole camp was settled, Flaire mad an announcement. "Blackskore, take ten an' scout th' area. We'll be stayin' here fer a few days. No 'urry, we're here fer slaves." 


	6. A Message Delivered

The robin soared on the cool autumn breeze. He spotted the fortress below him, and dropped down like a stone. The robin spread his wings and landed swiftly in the slave compound. Hopskipping from one slave to another, he stopped at Typhoon's footpaws.  
  
"Sorry, but we don't 'ave much food ter spare, liddle matey." She leaned down and smiled.  
  
"Norrawanna food. come wid message from Goldstrykfox."  
  
Typhoon gasped and pulled Zenith over. "Lookit, 'e has a message!"  
  
Zenith called Forest over, and, as he shared some cut-up food left over from breakfast around, listened to the robin.  
  
"Dis is worra we do..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~   
  
Sydscri was reclining in the large chair that was in Flare's room when the door banged open.  
  
"Marm, marm! Spitsnout's slain!" A ferret whose left footpaw was nought but a stub hobbled in, propped up with a crutch.  
  
Sydscri was up immediately. She was shorter and more heavily built than Flaire, but possessed a flaring temper. "What? How'd that 'appen?"  
  
"'Twas by a slingstone, accurately thrown." The ferret, whose name was Shangle Oneleg, said.  
  
The stoat growled and stamped out of the fortress. She opened the door and peered outside. Lying at the base of the tree was Spitsnout. Sydscri stepped out and inspected the dead rat.  
  
"Ugh. 'E was def'netly slain by a slingstone. Huh, looks like he was tryin' to saw that branch off." she muttered to herself. "Stupid fool. Well, at least we're less one idiot."  
  
Sydscri turned and entered the fortress. She threw open the slave compound gate and stared at them. "Any trouble outta yew, an' yew'll be slain on th' spot. Is that'n clear?"  
  
"Yes, marm!" came the chorused unenthusiastic reply.  
  
Sydscri gave them one last glare before slamming the gate behind her. "Shangle! See to it that those slaves git 'arf rations. They're up somethin'; I'd bet me tail on it! Double the th' walltop guard an' compound guard, too."  
  
Shangle Oneleg, who was the highest ranking officer in the fort, loped over from where he was eating lunch. The ferret nodded. "I'll go an' tell 'em now." He hobbled off, calling out orders in his low, gruff voice.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Zenith sat with his ear to the wooden gate of the compound. He heard the shrill trilling of birdsong, and the soft rustle of leaves. The peaceful moment was shattered by Shangle Oneleg's harsh barks.  
  
"Yew 'eard me, ye lazy lubbers!" he growled at a bunch of idle vermin. "Git on th' walltop! Harf o' yew watch those confounded slaves!"  
  
They scrabbled to obey, grabbing bottles of ale and flasks of grog to help them survive the long hours on watch. Oneleg snarled as he whacked out with the blade of his long scimitar.  
  
"Cummon, move yer idle tails!"  
  
Back in the compound, Zenith shook his head. The thought of the plan which the robin, Kri, had related to the slaves a few hours earlier.  
  
"How're we goin' to pull it off, matey?" Zenith jumped. Typhoon was behind him, her blue eyes dark and clouded.  
  
"How? Tchah! Leave yon blinkin' vermin ta me, wot!" Forest winked. The hare's brown eyes were bright. "That scum Sydscri has me bally sabre!"  
  
At that moment, the stoat was stalking about the fortress, gripping Forest's sabre tightly as she checked the guards. "Anybeast I catch dozin', I'll kick right off this walltop!"  
  
All the guards quickly snapped to attention.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
At midnight, some distance away, Goldstryk Desertchyp pawed his pendant apprehensively before fitting a stone to his sling. Kri was on his shoulder.  
  
"It's a risky scheme, but with a bit o' skill an' a lot o' luck, it'll scrape through." Goldstryk muttered, twirling his sling experimentally. He nodded to Kri.  
  
"The escape's on, my friend!" 


	7. Escape

A slingstone flew out of the surrounding woodlands, whistling as it zipped overhead and hit the solid stone wall.  
  
"Zenith! Rouse the other slaves! Hurry!" Typhoon whispered urgently, shaking her friend awake. The squirrel sat up and groped about in the darkness which hung over the land like a heavy cloak of black velvet. His paw closed around a smooth rock, which he hurled powerfully at the stone wall. It gave a loud 'Clack!'  
  
Goldstryk heard teh clack clearly with his keen hearing. He smiled grimly, and slipped off into the dark night, only to re-appear below a guard.  
  
'Thwok!'  
  
The limp form of a rat slumped over onto the wall. Goldstryk moved again, only to pick off more guards. Kri had gathered all his feathered friends. They flapped their small wings and hoisted a large fishing net (taken from a deserted otter holt) into the air. Draping it over the section of the wall which was part of the compound, the birds lifted another net and hung it on the other side of the wall.  
  
Zenith was hard-eyed as he ushered other slaves up the net. "Jump if ye have to, there're mattresses down there!" He said to each doubtful slave.  
  
Forest had disappeared. The hare was after Sydscri. She paused momentarily at a weapon store hut. Spying Typhoon's longknife and Zenith's bow and arrows, she grabbed both quickly, shoved the knife and bow in the quiver before slinging the lot over a shoulder. Forest glanced about and spotted the stoat. She sprinted straight at Sydscri, holding both paw out in front of her, clenched together like a vice. Forest dealt a savage blow to the stoat's skull, pried the sabre from the unconcious Sydscri's paws and ran back to the compound. She thrust her sabre through her woven belt and tossed the quiver containing arrows and bow to Zenith.  
  
"There ya go, ol' chap. Knew ya wanted 'em!" the irrepressible hare turned and pressed the longknife into Typhoons's paws. Just then, a scream emmitted from the opposite wall.  
  
"Escape! Escape!" a water rat called Flatskull shouted out. Unfortunately for him, Zenith fitted arrow to bow. Flatskull was silenced forever.   
  
"Hurry, up the net!" he shouted. Only he, Typhoon and Forest remained on the ground. The scaled the net, ignoring the shouts of vermin soldiers. Zenith was last down. Balancing expertly on a battlement, he fired arrow after arrow down at the vermin scrambling up the net, laughing madly the whole time. 


	8. Freedom

Typhoon stared around her at all the slaves whom she had come to know and love. Illuminated by dawn's first pale rays of light, they sat in a clearing which was some distance away from Flaire's terrible fortress. Each was exhausted from the headlong dash they made to get to this clearing. A small figure made his way to the center of the clearing. Typhoon smiled and stood up.  
  
"This is th' fox we all owe our freedom to. Meet Goldstryk Desertchyp."  
  
Loud cheers greeted this statement. Goldstryk turned scarlet under his fur as his back was patted by many paws, as his ears took in many grateful thank-yous and as his eyes took in creatures weeping openly. An old mouse came up to the fennec, tears flowing unchecked down his withered face.  
  
"Thank you, my son. Thank you for our freedom."  
  
~@~@~  
  
Sydscri sat up. She felt a thick bandage wrapped around her throbbing skull. Snarling, the stoat looked around. "What 'appened?"  
  
A small vixen, whose name was Nearsnout, timidly stepped out of the shadows. "You were knocked unconcious, marm, by a hare. Th' slaves escaped an' we los' ten soldiers, slain by a mad squirrel on th' battlements."  
  
"What?! Impossible! You talk of this like 'twas ordinary gossip." she exclaimed.  
  
"'Tis true. Th' hare took yore sabre, too."  
  
Sydscri literally howled with rage. She screeched at the vixen. "Out! Out of my room!"  
  
Nearsnout was out of the door in a flash. "ONELEG! GET O'ER HERE!" Sydscri yelled.  
  
Shangle Oneleg limped in as quickly as he could. "Yes, m'lady?"  
  
"Get Charpaw. Tell him to get a score of th' best an' FIND THOSE CONFOUNDED SLAVES!" The last four words were shouted into the ferret's face. Shangle nodded and hobbled out. Soon Charpaw, a pine marten whose right forepaw was wickedly burnt, and his twenty vermin marched out the fort gates.  
  
~o~o~  
  
Flaire sat in her tent, gnawing on a leg of roast woodpigeon. She wiped her mouth daintily on a silk pawkerchief and strode out of her tent and into the bright sunlight of an early autumn morning. Flaire inspeced some tents, did her rounds of the camp and took a seat on a tree stump on the outskirts of the camp. No sooner than she sat down, Blackskore and his scouts stepped into the camp. Flaire stood up and growled one word.  
  
"Report."  
  
Blackskore stood stiffly to attention as he related the information. "A colony of mice a day's journey down th' path. We wasn't spotted, we kept outta sight."  
  
"Good." Flaire nodded. "Go and get some food now. Yew look famished."  
  
Blackskore thankfully ambled off, his weary troop trailing behind him. Flaire turned her fiery green eyes on the rest of the camp, and rapped out orders before stalking off to her tent to pack up. "We march at dusk. Start taking down the tents."   
  
~`~`~  
  
"O pass that mug of  
Freedom to me,  
We've fought the fight.  
We're free, we're free!"  
  
Forest, Typhoon and other slaves played a merry tune on their instruments. All the rest sang out loudly, waving paws aloft and grinning.  
  
"O pass that cup of  
Joy an' cheer,  
Friends, good friends  
All are here!  
  
O pass that bowl of  
Sweet victory,  
All for you an'   
All for me!  
  
O pass that plate of  
Happiness,  
We've come through  
Not a beast less!  
  
O pass that beaker  
Of home so fine,  
Home, sweet home,  
Is yores an' mine!"  
  
The song ended amid applause and further cheers. Everybeast was rested and ready to go.  
  
"Right, we've go t'move. Those vermin are gunna track us, no doubt." Zenith's stern voice rang out around the clearing. Immediately, everybeast was up. Zenith turned. "Let's go!"  
  
"Where are we going, sir?" A young hedgehog asked, looking up at Zenith.  
  
"Redwall Abbey, o'course. No vermin has ever breached those great red walls." Zenith replied. "'Tis a week's journey from here, if we travel fast." 


	9. Hooded Stranger

Charpaw and his troop were expert trackers. The pine marten could see signs that the ill-experienced slaves failed to obliterate. He smiled, pawing his long spear. Its blade was of badger-metal, forged in the firey depths of Salamandastron. He had plundered it from a patrol of hares who had been scouting the area some seasons ago.  
  
"Look, some cracked twigs. Th' wind didn't do that." Charpaw muttered to his comrade, Syaw, who was a small weasel.  
  
"Aye, those slaves ain't soldiers, that's fer sure." The weasel murmmured back.  
  
Suddenly, a shadow dropped down from the trees soundlessly onto the soft autumn loam in front of the two astonished vermin. It wore a dark hooded cloak, secured tightly around its waist with a woven belt which held two deadly-looking short swords in plain scabbards. The cloak looked old and worn, but gave its wearer an imposing appearance.  
  
"Who are yew?" Charpaw demanded, feeling his courage surge back. What was one stranger to him, a member of Flaire Icefang's legendary horde? The pine marten hefted his spear.  
  
The hooded one did not reply. It turned, as if about to leave. Charpaw, emboldened by this, gripped his spear, about to charge.  
  
Suddenly, quick as lightning, it drew both swords and, with a powerful flip of the paw, dis-armed the pine marten. Syaw the weasel yelled, and hacked at the stranger with his broad cutlass. But the hooded beast whirled around and silenced him forever.  
  
~%~%~%~  
  
Further down the trail, Typhoon was marching along with the rest, the smile gone from her face. After the escape, a thought tugged at her mind. Flaire was still at large. Now the only thought the otter held fresh in her mind was revenge.  
  
Zenith was still his normal serious self. He had made up his mind that he would depart from Redwall once he had gathered his strength. Then he would track Flaire down and slay her, army or no army.  
  
Forest stared at the sabre in her paws. Flaire Icefang will soon know the meaning of perilous hare!  
  
Goldstryk Desertchyp watched his friends closely. He smiled grimly. Whatever they were up to, he was fated to join them.  
  
In the middle of the trail, a hooded figure suddenly appeared. The front ranks of the ex-slaves drew back in fear. The stranger pulled back its hood, revealing the hard, chiseled face of a squirrel. His blue eyes were like cold chips of ice, roving over the uneasy rabble of goodbeasts. When he spoke, his voice was like boulder over stone, harsh and grating.  
  
"My name is Angorath Hoodswift. I take it you are the escaped slaves?"  
  
Zenith stepped forward as the rest of the slaves nodded. "Aye, 'tis us. What d'ye want? Me name's Zenith Vertigo."  
  
"I have come to protect you. I know this 'ere land better 'n anybeast, for I am a wanderer." Angorath replied, not taking his chilling eyes off Zenith, who returned the stare just as fiercely.  
  
"How did ye know?" Zenith asked, his dark eyes penetrating.  
  
"I have my sources. Will you trust me or not?"  
  
Typhoon made her way to the front. Looking back at the others, who nodded encouragingly, she turned to Zenith and tipped her rudder.  
  
"Very well. 'Twill be comfortin' t'know that a seasoned warrior is accompanying us." Zenith told Angorath. Both squirrels shook paws before Angorath turned and dissappeared into the surrounding greenery.  
  
Forest strode over to Typhoon and winked. "Strange chap, wot! Wonder wot's wrong wi' him?"  
  
Typhoon laughed. "I agree, matey, tho' he's not that bad."  
  
~%~%~%~  
  
Flaire's slavers were on the move again. They stepped carefully over obstacles in the darkness, using broken-off branches or shafts of pikes, spears and javelins to aid their progress. At last, the colony drew into sight. A single flickering candle was lit in each hut, and beams of light were rippling out of windows. Flaire Icefang grinned sinisterly.  
  
"Right, no noise. Anybeast 'oo does gits silenced ferever."  
  
The vermin, hard-eyed and silent, advanced stealthily, closing in on the small colony. 


	10. Prophecy

Angorath was back swiftly. The squirrel's expression gave away nothing. He left everyone in suspense as he went about, taking bites of breakfast around the camp.  
  
The sun had just risen, and sweet notes of birdsong broke the silence now and then. Fragrant autumn blooms popped up here and there around the campsite, which Zenith had hastily made a little off the path the night before.  
  
"Well?" Zenith said, eyeing Angorath.  
  
"Well what?" The other squirrel replied, spreading honey all over his toast.  
  
"Well, what did ye find las' night?" Zenith said rather impatiently.  
  
"Oh, that! There wasn't anything much, though we're closer t'Redwall than I've expected. It seems that our group here made quite some distance during that mad dash. We're a mere two days away from th' abbey." Angorath took a large bite from his toast before striding off. Zenith watched him for a while bafore going to talk to Typhoon, Goldstryk and Forest.  
  
"Well friends, I have somethin' t' say t' ye all. Army or no army, I'm goin' after Icefang."  
  
"Splendiferous! Jus' th' blinkin' thing I was about t'say, wot!" Forest grinned.  
  
"Aye. 'Twas my plan t'go an' have me revenge." Typhoon smiled.  
  
"I dunno what thine wild ideas are, but I'm comin' wi' thee!" Goldstryk winked.  
  
Four paws came together. "TOGETHER!"  
  
~^~^~^~^~  
  
The next two days passed uneventfully enough. When they finally reached Redwall, mouths hung open in wonder. The magnificent structure reared up, backed by a clear blue autumn sky. The weathervane set at the top of the belltower seemed to rake the very clouds.  
  
"'Tis lovely, isn't it?" Angorath's low voice broke the silence.  
  
"Are we gonna live there, sir?" A young hedgehog asked, eyes glistening.  
  
"Yes, my friend, you will." Angorath gave a rare smile before walking to the gates. He thumped on the stout oak timbers with the pommel of one short sword.  
  
A yell came from inside. "Only one beast 'as a knock like a metal bolt!" The gates were thrown open, and a kindly face of an old otter appeared. "I see you've brought some friends, Ango, ye rascal! No matter, there's plenty fer all, mateys!"  
  
The ex-slaves poured into the Abbey grounds. A mouse of middle-age came up and shook paws with Angorath. She raised her voice so all could hear. "Eat first, introductions later, I say! You must be starving. Come and have lunch with us, friends!"  
  
"Thankee, Abbess Windbreeze, 'tis very much appreciated." Angorath said. The ex-slaves gave a loud cheer and flooded into the Great Hall, where lunch was already laid out.  
  
Pasties, big enough for six beasts to share, of all different shapes lay in platters, swimming in gravy. Cakes dripping with meadowcream adorned the centres of the tables, as large platters of honeyed oatscones lay steaming beside them. There were also cauldrons of good warm soup-- hotroot, watershrimp, vegetable and more!  
  
The former slaves gaped at it for a few moments, before scrambling for seats nearest to the food. Windbreeze looked around and thumped the table for silence. "Bow your heads as I say grace.  
  
"We thankee, Mother Nature,  
For all this lovely spread,  
At out humble table,  
May all be full and fed."  
  
The was a chorused "Amen", and then a clatter of chairs as all leaned forward to grab their share of food.  
  
~^~^~^~^~^~  
  
Flaire's green eyes shone in the blaze of the burning village. The stoat surveyed the scene of destruction. How she loved chaos!  
  
Twirling her pike, the stoat leapt doen from her perch atop a boulder. She inspected the newly-captured slaves which Blackskore and his companions had bound together. "Hmm...yew'll do, aye, yew will." she said, baring her diamond-studded fang.  
  
The mice, huddled together, looked up into Flaire's dangerous eyes. An old, greying mouse spoke, his voice reedy and quavering. "We will not bow down to you, Icefan-- unh!"  
  
A blow to the base of his skull from Blackskore sent him sprawling, unconcious. A younger mouse shouted at Flaire, words rolling unbidden from his tongue.  
  
"Four warriors travel forth,  
To the icy peak of snow and sleet,  
In the snow clash you shall,  
And death evil one shall meet!"  
  
Flaire snarled, giving the mouse a painful whack between the ears with her pikehaft. "Silence! Your silly prophecies are nought but sand upon th' wind! They are worthless!" 


	11. Rebellion

Typhoon crept outside, and up the stairs to the Battlements. It was a beautiful moonlit night, the few clouds illuminated with a milky white. The woodlands were bathed in cream, the flatlands washed in light. The sight took the young otter's breath away. She stood, leaning on the battlements for hours, gazing at the dreamscape below. The silence was shattered.  
  
"Pretty, isn't it?" a voice said, startling her. The otter whirled around, only to see Angorath sitting on a battlement, his hood up.  
  
"Yes, 'tis. I came here for a breath o' fresh air. Wot about ye?"  
  
"I sleep up 'ere. 'Tis quite peaceful." The squirrel replied, showing her a cot set up in the west walltop corner. "I'm too used to th' outdoors t'be away from it."  
  
Typhoon smiled. "Well, it certainly is peaceful up here. D'you mind if I join you?"  
  
"No, not at all. Here, y'can take th' cot. I'll bed down on th' floor-- me ol' cloak's good enough for me." Angorath Hoodswift spread his cloak over the walltop stones and soon was sleeping lightly.  
  
"Thank ye, friend." Typhoon yawned and lay back on the cot. Angorath was right. It was peaceful up there.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ten of Flaire's slavers set off, driving the mice hard back to the fortress. They would meet up with the rest at the mountaintop. Flaire hastily threw her tent canvas over a branch, weighted the edges down with stones and slid inside for some sleep. The others were doing the same, tired out from battle.   
  
All but Wettail amd his cronies, who were none too happy. They huddled inside a tent, sharing gossip. "Yer know wot I thinks? I thinks Flaire's gettin' too big fer 'er 'ide. She gits all th' slaves, loot an' plunder. An' wot d'we gets? Nothin'! 'Tis plain injustice, mates, I tell yer, 'tis!" Wettail whispered.  
  
"Aye. Only t'day she slew one fer keepin' a bead tailring!" A ferret called Tn'ong nodded.  
  
"'Tis time fer a rebellion. We jus' 'ave ter wait 'till th' righ' time, cullie." 


	12. Same Dawn

(A/N: I noticed Flaire's species changed from stoat to weasel several times in the story. Forgetful me!! Just to verify, she's a weasel, so keep that in mind, and dun get confoozled.)  
  
  
Typhoon awoke to find Angorath gone and the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The otter smiled to herself, stretched and rolled out of the cot. Feeling extremely refreshed, she bounded down the stairs and into the Great Hall, her eyes bright. Finding no-beast there, the otter sat and helped herself to a breakfast of warm toast and syrup, staring up at the depiction of Martin the Warrior on the wall. He reminded her much of Zenith and Angorath, all being fierce warriors.  
  
As she finished off the last of her toast, Forest came lolloping down from the dormitories. The hare grinned and seated herself beside Typhoon.  
  
"Spiffin' place, isn't it? Dunno why I woke so h'early, though, th' bed was bally well comfortable!"  
  
"Well, I s'pose we're used t'being roused by Rind afore dawn." Typhoon shrugged off the feeling of sudden rage at Flaire, seizing another loaf of breat to spread with honey. Forest didi the same to four, which vanished in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Firs' time I had a bally good sleep, wot!" she grinned.  
  
"Aye. I wonder where Zen an' Ango went?" Typhoon wondered.  
  
"Let's go look, wot!"  
  
~^^^~^^^~^^^~^^^~  
  
Flaire awoke to the same cloudy grey dawn. She pulled the canvas off the branch, rolled it up and stuffed it in her haversack.  
  
"Git up, yew lazy loafers!" she roared, waking the camp. Vermin sleepily packed their tents and stood to attention as Flaire swept by. "Well, let's git marchin'!"  
  
`^^^`^^^`^^^`  
  
Charpaw and his trackers wearily stumbled through the foilage. He scrubbed at his eyes with dirty paws as he rapped out orders snappishly. "Cummon, git movin'. I know where they're goin'. They're goin' ter that Redwall place. We best git back ter Sydscri. She'll probably wage war or somethin'." He licked his fangs in anticipation. The other vermin merely nodded, too tired to speak. Charpaw blabbered on, using his spear to aid his progress. "They says nobeast 'as ever breached those walls, an' th' warriors are summat like wraiths. I can't wait! Y'know, lots o'armies bigger 'n ours 'ave fleed from those gates, but we'll show 'em, eh?"  
  
~o~o~o~o~o~o~  
  
Typhoon and Forest had looked everywhere. The sun was high in the sky, but barely visible, and more autumn clouds rolled in. A light drizzle began as the pair walked inside for lunch. Two dark figures dropped down in front of the pair of maids, who both jumped with surprise.  
  
"Hallo, ye two. Me 'n' Angorath were out patrollin'. Any lunch left?" Zenith winked.  
  
"Aye, we're jus' startin', ye two sillies!" Typhoon grinned. Angorath and Zenith gave her fierce looks before all then burst into laughter. Forest gave them all a quizzical glance before remarking, "H'mph! While ya three are layin' about laughin' yore bally hooters off, I'll blinkin' well set about th' serious buisness o' scoff, wot!" and marched off. The trio stared after her, grinned, and took off yelling.  
  
"I ain't lettin' no 'are get me share o' food! Yaaaaargh!" 


	13. Fire and Flames

It was one season later. Flaire Icefang was still on th emarch, along with her horde. She could see the mountains in the distance, loominh up from the earth like sharp, jagged teeth. The stoat took this as a challenge, and smiled to herself. She was coming!!  
  
~*~&~!~&~*~  
  
The five friends set off in the early morning light, having said their goodbyes the night before. They were kaden with bulging haversacks, and a sling and stones each, donated by Skipper. They took one last look at the dawn-bathed Abbey before turning away and setting off towards the north.   
  
The next fews passed uneventfully enough, until Typhoon was jolted into wakefulness with a screech. The five were now in the flatlands, and were constantly on guard against roving Juska tribes.  
  
"Wot was that?" she asked the others, paw on her longknife  
  
"I dunno, mate, let's take a look." Zenith stood cautiously up, stringing his arrow to bow.  
  
Angorath and Forest followed. Goldstryk stayed behind to watch the provisions. As they neared a rocky plateau, the screech emitted once more. Typhoon drew her knife and peeked over the edge. She gasped as she spotted Flaire's camp. The tyrant stoat was whipping a bird who was bound to a pole. It was a large hawk, and it screeched fiercely as it was struck.  
  
"How did we find Flaire so quickly?" Typhoon whispered to Angorath as she dropped back out of sight.  
  
"Well, we've been travelin' hard, an' she was takin' her time capturin' slaves." the hooded squirrel whispered back. "'Tis quite obvious that we caught up as they lingered, torturing others."  
  
"The poor thing! We have t'save it!" the otter said, nodding to the others, who dipped their heads in reply.  
  
"Aye. If not, 'twill perish soon." Zenith drew back his paw until it pulled his bowstring taut. He let go and watched his arrow zip and thud into a vermin soldier standing by Flaire. The vermin fell with a scream. Flaire whirled around and snarled fearlessly at the squirrel. Zenith's harsh eyes met Flaire's dangerous ones, and he let out a blood-chilling yell while he fired arrows at the weasel at a ferocious, alarming speed.  
  
Flaire nimbly dodged them and viciously returned fire, seizing bow and arrow from a passing rat. Zenith threw himself to the side, but was struk on the shoulder, a bolt of pain running through him. He gritted his teeth and tore it out, blood forming a dark splotch on his tunic. Typhoon pulled her friend away. "Don't kill 'er yet, mate. Yore gunna be slain on th' spot."  
  
Zenith sighed, wincing as pain lanced through him again. "Aye, I guess yore right. We need a plan."  
  
Forest tore a strip from her tunic and bound Zenith's shoulder tightly. "Jolly good show, wot! I know where th' scum're goin', t'th'mountains."  
  
All eyes turned on the hare. "How did y'know?" Angorath asked Forest, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Heard Sydscri an' th' others." Forest shrugged. "Says there're wolved up there."  
  
"That's it! We'll have t'ask th'Mindstorm. She's dangerous an' unpredictable, but she's smart, cunning and strong. Mebbe this wolf has a plan for us." Typhoon leapt up. "'Twas an ole otterwives' tale, but I think it really exists."  
  
"She does. Saw her before during my wanderings. Drizzle Mindstorm's bigger 'n a badger, stronger too." Angorath toyed with the hilts of his swords, keeping his eyes on the ground.  
  
~*~@~&~@~*~  
  
Flaire pulled the arrow out of the guard's body, lip curling in disgust. She turned the saffron-fletched arrow over in her paws, recognizing it from her armoury. The squirrel! He was an escaped slave; she knew it. When she got back, that Sydscri would be punished. She stalked into her tent and sat brooding. They could cause trouble among the horde. She would kill each goodbeast one by one, slowly and painfully. The weasel smiled wolfishly and took a gulp of greengage wine before standing up and walking outside. She tapped the hawk mockingly on the head, snarling.  
  
"Yew cause a lot o' trouble fer one liddle birdy." Flaire slammed her paw into the bird's chest, knocking the wind out of it.  
  
"Kreeah! Yeh slimy cur, 'tis a wonder yeh haven't died yet! Ah wouldnae like tae be in yeh're filthaye hide when yon squirrael laddie catched up teh yeh!" The hawk's gold eyes stared up at Flaire. "Yeh will rehgret capturin' Ignis Fyrepinion, scum!"  
  
~*~@~&~@~*~  
  
Wettaail sat, running a paw over the blade of his cutlass. His slick, dark tail, which looked like it had been dipped in water, curled idly was he looked around, motioning his comrades over. T'nong grinned toothily, drawing his hatchet from his battered snakeskin belt. The ferret crouched beside Wettail and scratched underneath his eyepatch, tracing out a random pattern in the earth in front of him. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter about him, nodding to a thin, wily-looking vixen next to him. "Moonblood, have you any news o' Flaire?"  
  
"Aye, seems like some slaves escaped from t'e fortress. Flaire's worried about 'em, yek kin bet yer tail on that'n." she said, pale amber eyes flicking back and forth uneasily. Moonblood shuddered, snapping at the others. "Well, wot 'appened t'our fire, eh? 'Tis th' dead o' winder an' we don't 'ave a fire!"  
  
Obviously, she and Wettail were the leaders of the group. The vixen gave a nearble weasel a shove with her spearhaft. "G'wan, go an' git some firewood, block'ead!"  
  
Once he had gone, Wettail growled in a low voice. "Well, wot're we gonna do 'bout it?"   
  
Moonblood thumped her spear point-down into the dirt, and left it quivering there. "We lets th' slaves do wot they wants fer now, an' once Flaire's weak an' inkured, we strike!" 


End file.
